


Mustard Management

by weekdaydinnermenu



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Book obsessed Scarecrow for sure, Inspired from a mutual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 04:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekdaydinnermenu/pseuds/weekdaydinnermenu
Summary: Books are worth more than gold to former Gotham University professor Jonathan Crane.That is until they are worth nothing courtesy of ketchup and mustard.





	Mustard Management

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired from a mutual on tunglr. This just sent me and I had a lot of fun writing this. 
> 
> Condiment King mishaps and such with disgruntled Harvey as well.

**[Arkham Asylum]**  
  
**2: 47 a.m.**  
  
Finally, a chance for freedom.  
  
There had been a security lapse in Arkham Asylum and efforts were currently underway to look for Cornelius Stirk and Poison Ivy. Only a handful of inmates on the lower levels had escaped, a certain past Gotham University employee among them. Scarecrow and various others the burlap-clad individual hadn't given any thought to had a near free ticket to escape. It was only a matter of time before a particular Bat made his way to the sanatorium.   
  
There was only one step left for Crane and a certain coin-flipping individual before they made their separate ways out of the asylum. The former prosecutor was hurriedly reaching into the crate next to Scarecrow in search of his coins and weaponry bits. With a low grunt, he took the discovered marked object in hand and flipped it. It made a small _tink_ as it hit the back of his brawny hand. Given the coin flip, Two-Face continued in search of his suits.   
  
For Jonathan Crane, there was only one matter on his mind. His most beloved of words! Oh letters beyond their years!  
  
Scarecrow had found ways throughout the years to gain access to his books. It wasn’t uncommon for Jeremiah Arkham to destroy his literature; oftentimes in front of the former Gotham University professor himself. This time around though, Arkham had decided to keep the texts locked away beneath the undergrounds of Arkham Asylum. To the annoyance of the suited individual next to him, Crane began to speak.  
  
“I say to you now, my ambivalent friend,” the wide-eyed and crooked figure began, quite enjoying the audience to hear his prattling. “It should certainly be a crime to keep a man of my standing away from his literature! Why, '_A room without books is like a body without a soul_' as Cicero so pointed out!"  
  
"Call me friend again you overstuffed sack of hay," Two-Face replied dangerously, not once looking up as he searched through a different box. "and I'll flip to see which side of your head I punch first."  
  
Crane allowed a harsh sound to leave him as he continued digging through his texts. Finally, he discovered his ancient texts and small tomes. It was baffling to Crane that Arkham simply didn’t sell such wonders.  
  
There was a certain scent to the books Crane did not recognize, though he paid little mind to this as he picked up a stack of writings large as he could manage and placed them down onto the ground. Humming a tune and seemingly in as good of a mood as he had ever been, Scarecrow picked up a book with a worn cover. His lanky fingers spread across the text in the most longing manner.  
  
“_The Fabillis of Esope_,” he began, his voice in a rather rigid tone. “A standard, yes. Though not one I would surely place on top of my collection!”  
  
Despite his criticism, the Master of Fear eagerly opened the book. He was greeted by such a scent that he immediately recoiled. Upon further going through the pages, he felt a certain heaviness to them he was not familiar with.  
  
It was then that Crane saw what exactly the stench was. Ketchup blended with what appeared to be relish and mustard was smeared into the middle of the book. For a moment, the lank figure found it difficult to speak; a rather rare trait for one such as himself.   
  
Without further thought he tossed the book aside, grabbing for the next one in the wooden crate. A few appeared in fair condition until he came to it. Crane let out an anguished sound as he held the book close to his concaved chest.   
  
** No.**  
  
Tesoro Cattolico. A book of exceptional history, with only a handful of copies in existence. The majority of those original copies only existed in universities and museums. He had been proud to be the owner of such volumes! Now, the first editions were worthless. It was covered in not only mustard and ketchup but sprinkled with what appeared to be a substantial amount of pepper and seasonings.   
  
Scarecrow pleaded to whatever deities there could perhaps be this wasn't true. Crane didn't allow himself to look for a second, preferably believing the moment was a mere illusion of sorts. When he felt the coagulated substance seemingly crust against his hands, he knew it wasn't a nightmare.  
  
Opening his stark blue eyes that shone out from underneath his mask, Crane eyed over the materials in hand. Several of the pages were crusted together and the cover was soaked in pepper and ketchup. When he found courage enough to look into the crate, he discovered nearly his entire collections were covered in yellows and reds.  
  
Unable to take anymore, he turned towards the entryway with such rage and stamping of feet that it caused a disgruntled Two-Face to comment, his voice harsh and jarring.   
  
"If anyone comes down here because you're going off, I'm going to shoot you first."  
  
The horrified self-titled Master of Fear didn't even hear this statement. Crane paid little notice to anything around him as he continued wailing and ranting.  
  
"What is this!" Scarecrow shouted, "Is this some scheme from that ill-begotten Doctor Arkham?!" With this, Crane approached the entry in a way that a bull might approach someone who had been taunting it behind a barbed-wire fence. “My books! Such grievances have never become mankind since the burning of the Great Libary of Alexandria!”   
  
At this, Two-Face slammed the crate shut and immediately directed his attention to the burlap-covered man. Both rogues turned as they heard shouting coming from upstairs. With an almost instant flip of the coin, he turned towards Scarecrow upon gazing at the coins' results and lightly chuckled.   
  
"That's what the whacko Mayo was doing," Harvey muttered before adjusting his stance.   
  
At this, the stout and muscled rogue grabbed his two submachine guns and backed away. His weapons remained pointed towards the door until he made his way out towards the lower level.   
  
Crane attempted to move, yet found that his anger was nearly unbearable. It wasn't until it dawned on him just how this occurred did Scarecrow begin to gain composure.   
  
It was that new outlaw, a man no more than a mere jest who had found himself in Arkham after a bout of poison from a certain Clown Prince of Crime that caused him to turn to more illegal means and ambitions.  
  
Crane thought back on the perpetrator's name; Mustard Guy, was it? He cannot remember, instead choosing to focus all his ire on the grievances that had occurred to his publications.  
  
Scarecrow had only moments before the guards would make their way downstairs. He somehow forced himself to close up his fury and grabbed what remaining books he could. Anger continued to bloom on his face, though he found the strength to pick up what texts and small packs of empty skull-shaped dispensers that weren't covered in sauces he was able to. Crane rushed out the main entry just as he heard the booming voices call out.  
  
His nimble limbs took him far instantly. Before he knew it, he was outside the asylum. He rushed into the forest, knowing the pathway thoroughly. Scarecrow was well aware that this was indeed the witching hour for The Dark Knight of Gotham.  
  
Revenge against the individual who had committed these crimes against his books was weighing heavily on his mind. Nonetheless, there were other books and ancient tomes to be had. He would soon teach this miscreant a lesson in disrespecting such antique and revered books. This condiment-favored individual would face his wrath! What he viewed as a mere sport would be repaid tenfold in fear toxin.  
  
The barking of dogs gave Scarecrow all the reason he needed to hurry along with his escape. It was a frigid late-November evening and the weather was already sharp even in his burlap apparel. His head was still spinning. He gazed wistfully out towards the cityscape. Scarecrow didn't feel nearly as merry as he had believed his departure would make him feel, yet it was freedom nevertheless.   
  
In an instant, he was devoid of any sounds from those hunting for him. With more prominent threats at hand, the guards had decided to simply alert the local police and continue their tentative and nervous search for Gotham's more power-laden offenders.   
  
What Jonathan Crane didn't know was that only weeks before his latest arrival, one of the unsuccessful escapes from Arkham had indeed been Mitchell Mayo, aka Condiment King. Taking nearly a year's supply of condiments from the kitchen, he had chosen to spread them all throughout Arkham before his failed breakout.  
  
For The Master of Fear, this was most unfortunate. Mayo more than enjoyed spreading condiments throughout books and newspapers; nothing seemed to get a reaction more than those who found stains far beyond the saving point.  
  
In fact, these items proved to be a favorite of his. When he came upon the books in the underground crates, he was more than elated to spread as much as he could on the items before sprinting to the next crate. Escape wasn't truly on his mind, instead allowing mayhem to reign supreme.  
  
Crane remained unaware of this for the time being. He stroked his thumbs together in a way that made him think of turning a page in his books. He would have vengeance, he told himself.  
  
For the time being, his thoughts were more focused on how he would protect his texts properly. If loosened maniacs were determined to destroy part of his life's work, Scarecrow surmised he would work on storing away his staggering number of texts in such a manner that no one would ever find them. He would give this new rogue a piece of his mind the next time he was in his presence! He had to work to catch his breath again after running unusually fast.   
  
Scarecrow was able to feel his wrath still in full blossom, though permitted himself to savor it. Ever since he had been dismissed from Gotham University, Jonathan Crane had come to terms with his irritability in more ways than one. Crane had found methods to lock up his displeasure in ways he had never been able to before. Though still manic and unpredictable, he had come to terms with the savory taste of a long-delayed victory.  
  
Whatever this condiment-wielding person feared, Crane would certainly make it a priority to find out during his next encounter with the individual. He straightened his glasses underneath his hood and allowed a slow breath to pass through his being before speaking into the cold evening. Though his sodden texts were on his mind, The Scarecrow allowed a final quote to escape him before he trudged on towards one of his several hideaways. The Gotham cityscape was already in view, with little sign of anyone pursuing him.  
  
“'_The greatest remedy for anger is delay_', as Paine so pointed out! Hraiii!”   
  
His words fell upon the blustery wind as he trekked across the forest. Still, Crane couldn't help but grimace as the strong scent of mustard made itself apparent. A scornful noise left his lips as he attempted to focus his thoughts on other topics. It was more than tempting to return to the asylum to give this Mayo fellow what he deserved, Crane mumbled to himself. He allowed his thoughts to go towards fear and books; the greatest loves in his life.   
  
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  
  
Meanwhile in a small cell only miles away, the very individual who had caused such mayhem was laughing in his own set of confinements. He had heard the name Jonathan Crane and books in a simple sentence and knew in a moment what had occurred.   
  
"Do y'think he found it?! I hope none of you _ketchup_ to him!" Mitchell Mayo exclaimed, eyes focused on the guards that were running about as the security alarm blared. "Maybe that dry Wheat Thin should just _dill_ with it!"  
  
At this comment, the once mild-mannered comedian let out a laugh that was grating in nature. The costumed extremist knew perfectly well just what he had done.   
  
And he relished the opportunity to do it again.


End file.
